


Girl Goin' Nowhere

by Orange17



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: (I know there's not enough of those right?), Basketball Player Nicole Haught, College AU-ish, F/F, Waverly's Always Smart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-16 17:43:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18526453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orange17/pseuds/Orange17
Summary: Thanks to my beta@LuckyWantsToKnowfor all the help on this—you can thank Lucky for it being twice as long as it originally was and for the end result being a million and a half times better. And thanks toTrash_PandaTOfor listening to me whine about this since January.Title stolen fromthisAshley McBryde song.You can find me on Twitter,@DubiousOrange17.





	Girl Goin' Nowhere

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta [@LuckyWantsToKnow](https://twitter.com/LuckyWantsTo) for all the help on this—you can thank Lucky for it being twice as long as it originally was and for the end result being a million and a half times better. And thanks to [Trash_PandaTO](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash_PandaTO/) for listening to me whine about this since January. 
> 
> Title stolen from [this](https://youtu.be/9s830jmiqnw) Ashley McBryde song. 
> 
> You can find me on Twitter, [@DubiousOrange17](https://twitter.com/dubiousorange17).

_“Staaaaarting at point guard, number 2, freshman Nicole Haught!!”_

The nerves churning in Nicole’s stomach faded as she hopped to her feet at the announcement of her position. The excitement that swelled inside pushed an ear-to-ear grin to her face. She knew she should look more professional, more like she had been here and done this before, as she high-fived through the tunnel of her teammates. But it was hard to pretend when she really hadn’t been _here_ before.

She moved to her spot standing next to the rest of the starters and inhaled deeply, eyes scanning the stands. Though a couple thousand rowdy fans could pack into the arena, it was only half-full tonight.

The seniors had warned them not to expect such a big crowd after this. The first game of the year was always the biggest draw, before the men’s team took all of the attention.

But Nicole couldn’t bring herself to care.

Her eyes raked through the fans but she was too far away to spot her parents. As she turned away, it was enough to know that they were there and had been raving to family and friends about this moment: Nicole playing in her first collegiate game.

She turned to face the flag, eyeing the banners in the rafters as she did. It took all of her self-control not to pinch herself then, as her eyes wandered down to the logo on the front of her warm-up jacket.

She had seen that logo everywhere growing up: on tv, on football helmets, on alumni license plates, and on an endless amount of hats, t-shirts, and sweatshirts all around her hometown.

And now she was wearing it too. But not the generic t-shirts that anyone could purchase at any store. Instead, she was representing the college she grew up idolizing while playing the sport she loved, with all of her apparel embroidered with a distinct swoosh, a number 2, and her name.

It was surreal. And while she fidgeted to stay loose, she really did subtly pinch herself, under the pretense of retucking her jersey into her shorts.

Because if other people had their way, she never would have been there.

As the opening notes to the national anthem boomed through the speakers, Nicole’s eyes slipped closed. The momentary blackness was replaced by a loop of memories that she channeled all too often to get here.

\--

She was fifteen, chest aching as she fought tears while angrily throwing her shoes in her duffel bag. The last game of their tournament ended minutes ago and she had sat on the bench, in the same spot she hadn’t moved from all four games, watching her exhausted teammates drag their feet at the end of a close loss.

“Hey! What’s your problem?” her best friend Kayla asked, trailing after her as she stomped out of the locker room.

“I didn’t play,” she mumbled, throwing her bag over her shoulder. “Again.”

“You didn’t?”

Nicole rolled her eyes. Kayla didn’t seem to notice anything lately unless it was one of the gross guys on the boy’s team they practiced with once a week.

“Don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but… ”

Nicole stopped, turning quickly.

“You only made this team because you’re tall,” Kayla stated matter-of-factly. “You should be playing in a rec league or something… not on a travel team.”

Without a word, Nicole turned and made a beeline for the exit before any of her teammates could see the tears rolling down her cheeks.

\--

She was sixteen, guarding Kayla closely, sweat dripping down her face while Kayla dribbled slowly.

At the beginning of the season, the only coach Nicole ever knew passed on her, while all of her friends were selected for the top team in her age group and she was bumped to the team below. Kayla was quite… smug… about it.

Since their teams practiced together once a week, she lived and breathed for these few moments, these few battles, where it was just the two of them, head-to-head, one-on-one.

Kayla faked left, but Nicole didn’t take the bait. When Kayla moved to the right instead she was there, poking the ball away and sprinting down the court. She heard heavy footfalls give chase, before Kayla slipped and swore as she tried to keep up. With a smile, Nicole jumped, sinking an easy lay-up.

\--

She was seventeen, just starting her senior year, lungs still burning from sprints, when her coach pulled her aside after the first practice of the year.

He ran a hand through his thinning hair, “Nicole, this, um, is long overdue but I made a mistake last year… ”

Nicole nodded absentmindedly, as she idly dribbled a ball. She was unsure where this was going and, still gasping for air, less sure she had the breath for any reply.

He sighed, “I should’ve put you on my team… ”

He trailed off, hand moving to his forehead, “I know you’ve got a big year ahead of you and some tough decisions to make.”

She nodded again as he paused, still unsure why her coach sought out this impromptu one-on-one meeting.

“These college coaches, they’re gonna promise you all sorts of things,” he clapped her on the shoulder. “But I’ll tell you the same thing I told my son when he was in your shoes. _Pick a college you’ll be happy at without basketball._ You may never play a minute there. You might not even make the team.”

\--

By the time the referee held the ball waiting to toss it for tip-off, the smile had slid off of Nicole’s face. Her eyes narrowed as she used those memories the same way she had all summer, in the weight room, on the court, while she ran through stitches in her side: to fuel her.

Because they had gotten her this far, the only freshman starting in their first game of the season, so why change anything now?

\--

Nicole fidgeted, her back leaning against the window of the bus with her legs sprawled across the seats in front of her and feet dangling into the aisle. She twisted, unable to get comfortable, and the ice bag wrapped to her left knee was not helping.

With a sigh, she gave up, shoving headphones into her ears and fumbling for her phone to press play and turn up the volume to drown out the fact that they’d lost.

Again.

The team was on their way back to campus after their first road trip of her sophomore season. And so far it seemed like a continuation of her freshman year. Last year she understood. They were a young team with a head coach in only his second season. They were bound to take more than their fair share of lumps and losses.

But this year? She had worked her ass off all summer, in the gym, in the weight room ignoring the pain in her knee (a lingering lump from last season), for this year to be different.

Nicole twisted again, leaning her temple against the headrest, staring blankly at condensation dripping down her leg.

Same lumps. Same losses. Same yelling.

She could still remember the first time her coach chewed her out mid-game. Vividly.

It was the second game of her freshman year and instead of passing to a teammate in the paint, muscle memory took over as she threaded a pass to a teammate in the corner who missed a contested three, a lingering habit from her high school travel team’s strategy.

And it continued all year as she adjusted to the pace of college ball. All she heard was “don’t do” this and “don’t do” that without any explanation of what she should’ve done instead.

Nicole bit her lip until she felt the tattered flesh give way to sticky wetness, as she fought the urge to punch the back of the seat in front of her.

Because she wasn’t proving people wrong anymore. Instead, she was proving them right. That she wasn’t cut out for this.

As she tried, and continued, to fail to make the right play, she had developed a habit of holding on to the ball too long. And she was playing so conservatively on defense that opposing players were backing her into the paint and across the end line, before sinking easy lay-ups.

As embarrassing as that was it still couldn’t compete with being pulled from the game tonight with a quarter to go. Her coach didn’t need to offer an explanation, instead he only, openly, pointed at her knee.

She closed her eyes, swallowing the lump in her throat when her ice-bag timer on her phone beeped in her ears, playing over the music.

Nicole groaned, muscles sore as she sat up, grabbing her phone out of the pocket of her hoodie to turn off the alarm. As she slid her finger across the bright screen, blinding her eyes in the darkened bus, the ringing stopped only to be followed by another chime, a text message with the name “Kayla Yates” flashed across the screen.

Her stomach turned and her fingers curled around the back of her phone.

One of her teammates squeezed by in the aisle bumping into her feet. Pain shot through her knee at the movement, pulling her attention from the glowing screen and her spiraling mind.

Instead of throwing her phone across the bus, like her taut hand and forearm wanted to do, she shoved it back in her hoodie, groaning again as she leaned forward to unwrap the plastic wrap holding the ice bag in place.

Only once she had unwound the wrap and deposited it in a ball along with the damp bag in a bin at the front of the bus did she finally lean back against the window again, the cold from outside seeping through the glass and into the fabric of her sweatshirt. She fumbled with the hood, pulling it over her head and, in spite of the protest from one, tucking her knees to her chest, feet flat on the seat, before she slowly reached into the pocket to stare blankly at her phone again.

It had been two years since she had heard from Kayla, except for the occasional “like” on each other’s social media posts. Her stomach roiled guiltily, knowing part of the reason for the disconnect: Kayla’s parents didn’t let her play basketball their senior year of high school, saying the travel was too much strain on their family. Her parents filed for divorce less than a year later.

As her thumb hovered over the screen, all the callous words her friend had uttered, justified as honesty, echoed in her ears. Not being good enough. Being too serious. Not ever being able to just have fun.

Nicole knew she shouldn’t open it because, just like their imploded friendship, it would only cause her pain.

But who else did she have anymore?

Her parents had been strangely distant as her playing time dwindled, and had been radio silent in the three weeks since she selected her major.

So Kayla’s words couldn’t possibly make her feel as bad as the throb in her knee and the uncertainty that swirled around her, on-and-off the court. She clicked and, her eyes narrowed as she took in the long text on her screen.

Kayla (10:51 p.m.): _Heyyy! I caught your school playing on tv tonight and couldn’t believe i saw your crazy ginger self on the court. I told everyone around me in the bar that I KNOW YOU and beat you at 1-on-1 all the fucking time. Oh how times have changed right? It hurts, Nic, I should be there too. I miss playing so much and if you made it while stumbling all over the court, I should be there. I would be DOMINATING right?! I miss you. When are you home next? We should catch up. Shootaround maybe?_

\--

Nicole paced by herself, off to the side of the court, absentmindedly dribbling while she waited for practice to start. Her empty stomach churned, unsure what to expect as their new head coach walked through the door, a smile on his face.

The nerves were nothing new but they were certainly different today as she was unsure what to expect from the new coach. In her limited time with him, the coach seemed… nice?

But those brief interactions did nothing to tame her anxiety.

Between injuries and a tense relationship with her vague former coach, the hardwood, a place that had been solace for her for so long had become a source of stress and turmoil in the past three years. Her old coach had still blamed her for mistakes she made as a freshman and, though her knee had healed after months on the bench at the end of her sophomore year, and a new approach to rehab after a second opinion, she had burnt through all her chances.

But this, the first practice off her senior year, was a fresh start.

She was moving better than she had since she first put on her college’s colors. And shortly after he was hired, her new coach sought out a one-on-one meeting with her, adamant that he saw the potential for their new offense to funnel through her now that she was healthy.

Nicole picked up her ball, surprised to find herself at midcourt. With a sigh and then a heave, she fired a shot at the basket.

To her surprise, the ball flew toward the hoop on the perfect trajectory and, with a swoosh, flew through the net.

A whoop of excitement reached her ears and she turned to see a wide grin on her coach’s face. She turned, grinning to herself as she chased down the ball.

Maybe practice wouldn’t be so bad.

\--

Nicole groaned as she collapsed into her usual seat at the back of the lecture hall, impatiently wiping some still-damp strands of hair out of her face. Her legs ached, mostly from this morning’s workout, but also from the ten-minute race to shower, mostly dry her hair, and run to class, as best as she could with an ice bag taped to her knee, all while chugging a protein shake.

She grimaced as she peeled off her thick zip-up hoodie, desperate to cool down. As she used her shoulder to wipe at the bead of sweat rolling down her ear, Nicole vaguely wondered, as she did every Tuesday and Thursday, if it was even worth the effort to shower since she was not only sweaty and flushed from her cross-campus dash but also overheated from the warm water. 

Tossing her sweatshirt on top of her backpack, perched on the empty seat next to her, she flipped up the scratched and graffitied wood desk. Nicole shifted her hoodie, unzipping the main pocket of her backpack, and eagerly digging inside a compartment in search of the bagel she had hastily thrown in before leaving the basketball facility. Lost in her search, pushing aside a binder and notebook, she jumped at a tap on her shoulder.

“No wonder you’re struggling. Can you even see the professor?”

Nicole turned quickly, fighting a smile at the familiar voice, but her stomach twisted at the reason she was hearing it.

“Hey,” Nicole replied sheepishly, biting the inside of her cheek at her shaking voice.

Though this was only the second time she had met her new tutor, Nicole doubted she would ever get adjusted to being in Waverly’s proximity.

For the first three weeks of the class, Nicole sat at the back of the room, content to admire the younger student from afar while Waverly’s hand consistently rose quicker than the rest, eager to answer all of the professor’s questions. More than once, while Waverly thoroughly responded to a question about the reading or the significance of a particular historical event, Nicole caught herself wishing she could listen to that sweet, bubbly voice instead of the monotone droning of their professor for 90 minutes, twice a week.

But when Nicole’s academic advisor set her up with a tutor after a D on the first exam, she didn’t expect for it to be the charming, beautiful girl from the front of the class. 

“Want to sit up front with me?” Waverly asked, fidgeting with a strap on her bag.

Though there was undoubtedly appeal to sitting next to Waverly and plotting ways to accidentally brush up against her sunkissed skin to see if it was really as soft as it looked for the next hour-and-a-half, Nicole shook her head.

“No,” she sighed, “I’m tall and fidgety. If I don’t block everyone’s view, I’ll distract them with my inability to sit still for longer than 15 seconds.”

Waverly bit her lip, before hefting her bulging bag higher on her back, “Okay, but I’ll save you a seat in case you change your mind. We’re still on for studying tonight?”

Nicole nodded, unable to form words as her mind ran wild, imaging her own teeth gently clamping down on that bottom lip.

“Can’t wait,” Waverly beamed before hurrying down the steps to the front of the room.

\--

The pen that Nicole had been spinning in her hand for the better part of the night bounced as she dropped it on her open notebook. The soft thud seemed to echo around the eerily quiet third floor of the library.

Nicole stretched, stiff from stuffing her lanky frame into an uncomfortable wooden chair and remaining there for the last four hours. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been in this building for longer than to cut through on her way to class, as a brief escape from the bitter winters. Maybe on her campus tour?

But leave it to Waverly to convince her that they needed one last study session before their exam tomorrow.

The tip of the brunette’s red pen hovered above the torn-out piece of notebook paper, following her eyes back-and-forth across the page as Waverly read through Nicole’s answers to the practice short answer and essay questions.

And it was fully worth it to see Waverly like this: adorably panicked and nervous for the exam, more and more strands of her hair sneaking their way out of the originally neat bun atop her head. No matter that she was probably the person most likely to ace the test.

Nicole smiled as Waverly paused, the tip of her tongue poking out as her head tilted to the side. The pen lowered to the paper, the fine tip leaving only a small dot of ink before Waverly lifted it again.

“Tell me it’s bad, I can handle it,” Nicole yawned, twisting to crack her back.

“It’s not _bad_ ,” Waverly murmured, rubbing at her eyes with her free hand. “It’s thorough and accurate, but I feel like this concluding sentence could better summarize the points you made.”

Silence fell between them as Waverly was lost in thought, lips silently moving to the words on Nicole’s page.

After the fourth time, Waverly impatiently tapped the pen on the paper before glancing at her watch, eyes bulging at the time, “Fudgenuggets! We’re going to get kicked out in three minutes and we still have one more to go.”

Nicole reached for her backpack with a shrug, “It’s probably fine. And I’ll put more time into my conclusion tomorrow.”

“ _Probably fine?_ How are you so confident about all this?” Waverly asked, biting her lip, eyes wide with anxiety at the reminder of the upcoming test.

“I’m studying with the best student in the class, what’s there to worry about?”

Nicole didn’t miss the millisecond of brightness in Waverly’s eyes from the compliment before they rolled out of sight and Waverly’s focus turned to gather up her items. And it didn’t return as they walked down the stairs and out of the building, where they set up their next study session before exiting into the chilly night.

“It’s late,” Nicole pointed out, sheepishly, fidgeting with the sleeve of her jacket. “Which way are you going?”

With a nod to the left, Waverly replied, “I live over in Harris.”

“Oh, I’m going that way too, can I walk you back?”

Waverly smiled, swinging her arms as she turned down the sidewalk, “Are all the basketball players this chivalrous?”

“Just the tall ones.”

Waverly laughed, pushing away some hair that the gentle breeze pushed into her face, silence falling between them until Waverly’s dorm building came into view.

“I read in the paper that you have a big game this weekend. Are you nervous?”

“Nope,” Nicole lied. She had infinitely more butterflies for the upcoming game against their rival school than from the test tomorrow. “It should be a good game though. Are you a basketball fan?”

“Not really,” Waverly admitted. “But maybe I’ll have to go. If it’s such a big game… don’t want to miss out.”

Nicole’s hands unconsciously drifted to the straps of her backpack, thumbs slipping between the padded straps and her jacket, “Oh you’ll definitely miss out. It’s probably the second-best crowd we’ll draw all year.”

“Then I’ll be there,” Waverly nodded, coming to a stop by the door.

Nicole smiled, surprised that the idea of playing in front of Waverly eased her nerves instead of increasing them. “Thank you. I hope we can make it a good game for you. And I, uh, I mean, good luck tomorrow.”

The excitement that had seemed to build in Waverly as they walked vanished, as if the picking up breeze had caught that emotion and carried it away. Nicole kicked herself, wishing she could ease Waverly’s nerves in a way the other woman had done for her.

“Hey, you’ll don’t need any luck. I know you’ll do great…” Nicole trailed off, watching as her words had little impact on Waverly, her eyes downcast. “Want to grab coffee afterward? To celebrate?”

Waverly smiled shrewdly, and Nicole took it as a small win.

“That sounds great, thanks Nicole. And thanks for walking me home.”

“Anytime, Waves. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Nicole waited until Waverly was inside before turning, continuing back past the library on the way to her apartment.

\--

Nicole leaned against a wall outside the classroom, scrolling through her phone while she waited on Waverly. She sighed, running her free hand through her hair as two more of her classmates passed on their way out of the building.

_Leave it to Waverly to take the whole 90 minutes,_ she thought, switching from one social media app to another to kill more time.

With their big game this weekend, her morning workout was shorter, allowing her a few extra minutes getting ready before class. For once, she looked more like a normal college student and less like someone who accidentally ran through a car wash in their pajamas.

She snorted to herself as her teammates’ genuine questions as to why she was so dressed up rang in her ears. It was just jeans and a flannel but since nothing she had on, backpack aside, was team-issue, she was practically in formal wear by student-athlete standard.

The door clicking closed pulled her from her musings, and she looked up to see Waverly, her bulging bag slung over her shoulder.

“Hey! Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“It’s okay,” Nicole grinned turning toward the exit. “But I hate to break it to you, you missed next week’s lecture in the time it took you to finish up.”

Waverly smiled in return before shoving her playfully, “Well, I almost didn’t recognize you in normal human clothes.”

“My teammates didn’t either,” Nicole admitted, before twisting to look at Waverly. “Where did you want to go for coffee?”

They settled on Waverly’s favorite little place, two blocks off campus and hidden behind a popular bar. They alternated between small talk and amicable silence until they at a table by the window with a mug each.

“Should I ask about the exam or not?” Nicole questioned before blowing on her coffee.

Waverly grimaced, “I think you just did.”

Nicole shrugged, “We can pretend like I didn’t.”

“No, no, it’s okay…” Waverly trailed off, picking at a chip on the handle of her mug. “I _think_ it went okay.”

“Waverly, literally every question was on the practice test or something our professor strongly hinted at in class.”

“I know, I know,” Waverly pulled her hands back from the mug, wringing them instead. “But what if the answers we practiced weren’t great. And I didn’t even have time to read your answer to the one last night—”

Nicole chuckled before lifting her drink to her lips.

“—and are you _laughing_ at me?”

“I am,” Nicole shrugged. “C’mon Waverly you’re the smartest person in the class. I don’t know how you don’t see it? If you do poorly, I can’t wait to see the curve we’re all given.”

Waverly’s eyes fell to the table before she changed the subject, “How do you think you did?”

“Great, actually. I spent more time on the conclusion for the second essay question, like we talked about yesterday, and I even think I got the bonus one right too. _All thanks to you_.”

Nicole was relieved to see a smile finally tug at Waverly’s lips. She lifted her head, revealing a smirk.

“We’ll see about that once you get your grade.” 

Their conversation drifted away from classes and they stayed at their table long after their drinks were finished, until Nicole was pushing it to get to practice.

They lingered on the sidewalk outside, Nicole knowing she would need to literally run to make it as-is, but she couldn’t bring her feet to move. Not with Waverly smiling up at her like she was, her eyes alight.

When they finally said their goodbyes, Waverly paused and Nicole could sense she wanted to say something more. She brushed aside her internal clock once again.

“What are you thinkin’ Waves?”

“Thank you for your vote of confidence last night… I really, _really_ needed to hear that… and I want to tell you good luck this weekend, but I don’t think you need it either.”

Nicole’s heart swelled, but it nearly burst when Waverly leaned forward for the barest of seconds before shaking her head.

“Either way, if you want something to look forward to, we could meet up after the game.  Maybe get a drink at Shorty’s to celebrate your win?”

“Yes, definitely,” Nicole beamed. “But if I don’t get going now, I’ll be riding the bench all game and running suicides for hours after it. I’ll text you.”

With a laugh from Waverly, Nicole turned and sprinted in the direction of the arena.

\--

_“Staaaaarting at point guard, number 2, senior Nicole Haught!!”_

Nicole hopped to her feet. With the surge of adrenaline from her name echoing through the rafters, the gloomy knowledge of the limited games she had left in this arena was pushed aside for her usual excitement and pregame jitters. She beamed, high-fiving her way through the tunnel of her teammates.

She moved to her spot standing next to the rest of the starters and inhaled deeply, eyes unconsciously drifting to the student section in search of Waverly.

Her tutor wasn’t hard to find from her spot in the front row, clad in a university t-shirt turned crop top. The only thing that pulled Nicole’s eyes from the revealed skin was the number 2 painted across her cheek.

She wasn’t sure how long she had been staring when Waverly caught her. Her tutor waved excitedly, bouncing eagerly from her spot with a Pom-Pom in hand.

Nicole felt her cheeks flush but she nodded slightly in acknowledgment as the opening notes of the national anthem projected throughout the arena.

She closed her eyes as she shifted from foot-to-foot, both to stay warm and for something to do with her nervous energy. Though her eyes were closed, she knew her brow had furrowed as she struggled to cycle through the memories she used to channel her focus before a game. Instead, all she saw was Waverly.

Waverly with a red pen in her hand, hair spilling from her bun. Waverly giggling while she sipped her latte, adorably embarrassed as coffee trailed down her chin. Waverly standing outside her dorm, illuminated by only the streetlight.

Nicole pulled her eyes open though the anthem was only halfway complete. She forced her gaze to the flag, before chancing a glance in the student section’s direction, just to make sure Waverly, complete with Nicole’s jersey number on her cheek, hadn’t been a dream.

It wasn’t.

The neat, black 2 seemed to stand out even more than before on Waverly’s cheek, filling Nicole with a calm that she didn’t know she could find in these moments. She stilled, her anxious energy subsiding, just before the anthem finished.

With one last glance at Waverly, Nicole turned, smile still on her face.

\--

Nicole dragged herself into her bedroom, dropping her duffel bag inside the door, and fell backward into the middle of her bed. She kicked off her shoes, doing her best to ignore the twinge in her knee as she did so. She reached above her head, blindly pulling a pillow from the top and held it tight to her chest, breathing in the calming smell, different from her own shampoo, that lingered on the fabric.

But the comfort it brought was short-lived.

Her stomach twisted guiltily. Her girlfriend fell in love with the college senior breaking school records and leading her team to their first conference championship in a decade, not the rookie who has been a mess on the court in her first two weeks of practice with a pro team.

She closed her eyes and willed away the not-top-ten worthy highlight reel from today’s practice, that consisted of her getting beat left and right, fumbling and failing to grab rebounds, and her turning over the ball on possession after possession. Shaking her head and pulling the pillow closer, she allowed the scent to bring forward more positive memories: Waverly on her senior night, wearing her jersey, and the pair of them exploring this big, unfamiliar city when Nicole first moved into her small apartment.

Her phone buzzed in the pocket of her sweatpants. Groaning through her sore muscles, she turned, fumbling to find it, knowing that Waverly just finished classes for the day.

Instead of her girlfriend’s name flashing across her screen, it was a notification from social media. Nicole absentmindedly clicked.

She sat up quickly and her eyes narrowed the scanned the screen to see that she was tagged in a picture by Kayla. Though she wasn’t physically in the photo, she was tagged where her name stood out, as her alma mater’s all-time assists leader, with Kayla posed next to it, a finger pointing at her name.

But Nicole’s skin flared red-hot when she read the words included with the post, that detailed how Kayla had beaten her all-day, every day in high school, with a snide comment about how she deserved credit for all those assists.

Fuming, she hastily clicked to type out a retort. Before her thumbs could bring her blistering thoughts to life, her phone began to the beep and the screen was filled with Waverly’s face.

She blinked quickly, her mind struggling to follow the abrupt change. Nicole reflexively pressed to accept the video call.

“Hey baby!” Waverly crooned. “How was practice?”

Nicole’s brain froze, torn between ire and elation.

On the screen, she could see concern fill Waverly’s face, from her scrunched forehead to her frown.

“Nicole… what’s wrong?”

Nicole sighed, the tone in Waverly’s voice forcing the fight out of her. She ran a hand through her hair before she collapsed back onto the bed, phone still in hand.

“I told you about my old teammate Kayla, right?”

\--

Nicole fidgeted with the collar of her shirt. Instead of smoothing it down, her shaking fingers managed to crumple it more.

She sighed, taking in her appearance in the mirror. Her hand drifted, tugging at the top button on her shirt but a sharp smack to her hand stopped her abruptly.

“Ow!”

“Stop,” Waverly rolled her eyes, pulling Nicole’s hands away from her shirt before effortlessly smoothing out her collar. “You look great.”

“Not as good as you,” Nicole smiled.

“Oh please,” Waverly rolled her eyes again, smoothing out Nicole’s jacket before stepping back. “You ready for your speech?”

Nicole shrugged, her hands absentmindedly slipping into the pockets of her pants. Each one curled around a rough, crinkled wad of paper.

“You sure you don’t want to practice?” Waverly asked.

Nicole shook her head, her mouth already dry at the thought of speaking in front of so many people.

She had drafted two versions of this speech, and even now, only a few minutes before the start of the ceremony, she didn’t know which she would choose.

“Should I be worried that you haven’t told me _anything_ that you’re going to say?”

Nicole swallowed thickly, “No.”

“Can I get a hint?” Waverly smiled, looking up through her lashes in a way Nicole couldn’t resist.

Nicole’s hands tightened their grip.

“It’s, um, a thank you. To people.”

Which people specifically, had yet to be determined.

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Though nearly two decades had passed since Waverly called her after that awful practice early in her rookie season; she could remember it all vividly. She could practically feel the springs of her cheap mattress poking into her back while Waverly encouraged her not play for Kayla, or her parents, or any of her old coaches—but only for herself.

And though Nicole would never quite fully put aside her desire to prove people wrong, and the chip on her shoulder that came with it, she did take Waverly’s words to heart. It wasn’t overnight, but as she cast those demons aside she felt freer and the bounces started going her way.

The next day at practice she admitted the pain in her knee to the trainer and after a few weeks of physical therapy was back on the court again, moving pain-free. The game slowed down and the turnovers shrunk.

Now, three Olympic gold medals, several championship titles, and a sizable trophy case of personal accolades later, she was about to be enshrined forever in the basketball hall of fame.

Walking slowly to hide the small limp in her left leg, her hands were still buried deep in her pockets. Her left was wrapped around a tongue in cheek speech, thanking Kayla, her terrible coaches, and her parents for all they’d done to help get her to this day. But the right hand speech was more genuine, with potentially a sickeningly sweet amount of space dedicated to Waverly, but also thanking the positive individuals in her life for helping to get her here: her teammates, the college coach that believed in her, the pro team that took a chance on her, the endless line of trainers who taped ice to her knees.

She came to a stop behind the podium, immediately blinding herself in the bright lights. In spite of all the interviews and press conferences she had done over the years, she had never managed to quite adjust to them.

Her left hand twitched as she blinked until the audience came into focus. Her eyes immediately honed on Waverly, magically picking her out of the full room.

A wide smile stretched across her face at the pride that radiated off her wife, a warmth that had little to do with the bright lights shining down on her coursing through her. Waverly subtly nodded at her, in a way to get on with her speech.

Nicole took a deep breath as she pulled her hands from her pockets, the right one pulling a wad of paper with it. She smoothed it out in front of her, and she cleared her throat.

Eyes finding Waverly’s again, she spoke about what an honor it was to even have been considered, thanking the committee and the Hall of Fame for allowing her to be here today.

“But there is one person whose endless support and belief in me is truly why I’m here today. And that is my wife Waverly…”


End file.
